What the fuck is up, members of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m currently typing this bitch while actual rays of sun blast through my window. And while they aren’t supercharging my glands, my glutes, and my muscles ala Superman, these rays do feel good. So I’m hitting this son of a bitch with a bit more ebullience than I would have, had I actually written this yesterday.

Which I intended to, honest! But then the day got in the way, and blah, blah. None the less, let’s embrace the Here and the Now together.

What are you radical fucking pseudo-primates up to this week? What are you enjoying? Sweating the next WandaVision? Gleefully watching the snow melt? I don’t know, enjoying baseball’s Spring Training or some other odd shit?

I want to know! I want to show! I’ll go! First!

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Oh lord, friends! It is the mother-fuck-ing weekend, and not a moment too soon! A stressful week has given way to a temporary haven. Some 48-hours or so where I can shut down my brain, open up my gullet, and eat junk food and watch slop. How the hell are you folks doing? It’s a goddamn mess across the map, with most of the Empire getting ass-blasted by cold weather and snow.

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Father forgive me, because I do know what I do! Mainly, I fling profanities and fluids with a carelessness that must be condemned and appreciated. You know? Oh, you fucking know! Seriously though, I had to riff one last time on 30 Coins before its season finale this week. Mamma mia, what a really, really, really fun fucking show. Sad to see it go, glad to have experienced it, quietly wondering if we are going to get a second season.

But that wild, wonderful show about secret sects, spider babies, forbidden gospels, and hot, hot people ain’t the only thing I’m enjoying this week. In fact, I got a whole fucking list of shit I’m digging this week! Double in fact, I’m about to reveal that list to you! Open your eyes! Open your mind! Open your ass! Bask in the infinity of my hobbies and interests! Scream, as said list shears mind from common sense. Scream, as said list condemns you to an oblivion only previously thought theoretical.

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As our own Neo said to me today, lately my ass definitely sounds “kinda burned for this early in the semester” and he ain’t wrong. I don’t know, man! Fucking snow! Fucking gray skies! Fucking remote teaching! It’s all just a lot, and every day survived feels like a small victory. There’s sludge in the brain! Mud in the blood! My synaptic cycling is definitely more slowed than preferred.

Eh! Fuck it, right? I mean, I don’t know what to do.

Keep moving! Keep going! Push forward.

I’m just grousing, but I’m here! Which has to count for something, right? Please tell me yes. Just lie, if need be. I need it.

Meanwhile, despite my gloom, I’m enjoying my fair share of commodities and consumerist models. So I’m gonna share these oddities, commodities, and various arts & farts with ya’ll. Then, I hope you’ll decide to join me in the comments section.

Let’s fucking go!

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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It’s true! My skeleton is my oldest house. Within its walls, do I ever haunt. The burbling, bubbling of a mad brain. The frenzied, arrhythmic horrors of an over-caffeinated heart.  The creaky, laborious groans of a skeleton subjected to gravity, entropy, and exertion. Oh, does my soul walk these halls. Oh, do I ever haunt. This house, the oldest house, it treats me well.

The oldest house keeps my meat-processor protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

The oldest house keeps my circuitry protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

I don’t fault the oldest house for its failing, for when it fails to protect me. Or, when the piping gets clogged. Or, when the meat-processor over-heats, or short-circuits. After all, what house is infallible? Show me the lark selling that shanty, and I’ll show you a liar.

My house, the oldest house, isn’t perfect.

But it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

I take reasonable care of it, and it takes reasonable care of me.

On certain days, we’d probably ask more out of one another, but for the most part we’re pretty happy. Which is good.

‘Cause it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Guilty of nostalgia, motherfuckers! Of the honeying of childhood, the discarding of its various horrors, and the embracing of its warm glow. Listen, if you watch the stream you know that my childhood was wonderfully replete with woes. At the same time, it was also a time of magic. Nothing quite rocks one’s ass like a childhood discovery. Be it a horror film that sculpted your brain, a video game that changed your life, or a metal album that had you throwing up the metal horns. Fucking A, bro! Sure, you grow, and continue to find things you love. Hopefully! Hopefully.

I suppose I should acknowledge that many people find themselves despondent in their aging corpus, and retreat into the bosom of nostalgia. They suckle upon the curdling milk of Mother Wayback’s teats. That ain’t healthy, and I do pride myself on continuing to find joy and wonder in new experiences, even as I approach Middle Age. That said, there’s a joy to rekindling old memories with friends, such as you fucks, here at the Weekend Open Bar and on the streams.

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Holy cannoli, motherfuckers! I am back! Not only am I back, but I’m back with a little secret. I actually started this MMC last week, and then just sort of petered out. Yup, both the title and the image were forced in the stupidity of 7-days prior! But we all know the fucking truth, right? My stupidity is both eternal, and timeless. Seven days ain’t going to change that, nor really changed what I’m up to these days. Actually, that’s sort of a lie. Last week, Sam and I were in the continued thralls of Mother-in-Law mania, but it’s definitely cooled down since then. The general VIBE in the HOUSE OMEGA is far more relaxed now. Which is obviously a good thing, ’cause, you know, I feel mentally capable of writing something in this here WordProcessingUnit.

Anyways, enough of this fucking prologue, no? Let’s jump down into the happenings (the haps!) for the week! Then in the comments section you slugs better share what you’re up to in this week! It’s the pact we have made, we have sealed in blood and discussion of boobs and butts over the past 10+ years.

This is Monday Morning Commute, you motherfuckers!

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Oh holy fucking moly, it’s the end of a deeply exhausting week! Glad that Sam’s surgery is behind us, compelled to pray that her results back clean, and refreshed from my first decent night’s sleep last night. So man, I’m fucking stoked. To being able to relax for the next couple of days, prior to tackling the last week of the semester.

But, enough about my stinking, rotting ass!

How the fuck are you all dong, my friends? This is Weekend Open Bar, and I implore you to hang out with me! Keep me company during this first weekend of December, an odd December no doubt.

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You know, it’s been a goddamn crazy week! To the point where I actually started a MMC with the same headline, and, whelp. That shit was flushed down the existentially quickness when the week hit warp speed. That said, I’m here now! How the fuck is everyone doing? Before we get going, a reminder. Check your pants for your genitals, check your wallet for a lucky dollar bill, and check your psyche for the few firing neurons left.

You back? You good? Your biological pump-and-chasm working? Lucky dollar in place? Brain tethered together with Insistence and Folly? Fucking good. Good! So, let’s hang the fuck out now! Given that we’re all in one place, secured, and seizing.

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Welcome to Monday Morning Commute on Election Tuesday! I’ll tell you something, my friends. I had begun writing this column yesterday, and it was full of piss, vinegar, and a real fucking white-knuckled fist at the world. And, you know what? It was just exhausting, my dudes. I petered out after the first paragraph and called it quits. I just don’t have it in me to rage, rage, against the Dying Democracy. Instead, fuck it. I offer you this boon, this refuge from the insanity of the Outside Digiverse.

Now listen, I’m not saying to not care. Now listen, I’m not saying to not vote like your future queer daughter’s life depends on it. However, lost in 2020 is the need for self-care. For sure, i’s a privileged practiced. Everyone needs it, not everyone can attain it, and I care and have empathy for those less fortunate.

But, if you can spare a few minutes, hang out here at MMC with me. I can’t promise you anything other than my kindness, but I’m genuinely curious what you’re looking forward to in this Hellscape of a week. Okay, fuck, that was dark. Listen, I’m trying, but reality does penetrate me straight through the ass every once in a while.

I got my own collections of diversion, distractions, and diluting potions I’m imbibing this week. In fact, I’ll fucking tell you! Then follow-up in the comments with your own laundry list of pleasantries.

I love you all, this is Monday Morning Commute!

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